How Do I Love You?
by Enimsaja Snape
Summary: Sherlock's a huge man-child, but John loves him. How does he love him? Does he still Mary? Does he love Sherlock more than Mary? Genre says Friendship right now, but it might change.


**Sherlock's a man-child, and John allows it: Chapter 1**

* * *

If the walls of 221B Baker Street could talk, they would probably have a lot to say. So many things had happened in that flat. But none of them were as unbelievable as what was happening at that very moment. Sherlock Holmes was cleaning. Books were placed back on shelves, the sheet that the detective sometimes wore instead of clothing was back in his bedroom, experiments were cleared away, dishes were washed, and even body parts were properly stored.

In all of the time that Sherlock and John had lived together, the detective had never even thought about cleaning. Even after John had moved out and moved in with his wife, Mary, he hadn't cleaned. So why was he dashing about the flat cleaning now? John and Mary were coming over for dinner for the first time in over six months. As much as John had promised that things wouldn't change, they had. In the beginning, he still came running whenever Sherlock texted if it was convenient, and if it was inconvenient, he came running anyway. He still stayed up for days working on cases with his best friend. He still fussed over Sherlock's eating and sleeping habits. To John, everything was great…until Mary began to complain. In the beginning, Mary had explained that she understood the unusual relationship that her husband shared with the consulting detective and that she had no intentions of coming between them. This made John love her even more. He got to keep his exciting life with Sherlock without having to worry about ruining his love life. No more having to choose…or so he thought.

Sherlock was chipping away a green substance from the now-cleared table when he heard footsteps on the stairs as well as hushed voices.

"You don't live here anymore, John. Would it have hurt you to knock before just barging in?" Mary.

"Sherlock doesn't mind. He'd be more upset if I knocked and disturbed whatever experiment or case he's working on. Trust me." John.

"Well in a normal home, you knock and wait to be let inside."

"Yeah well, when has Sherlock Holmes ever been normal?"

Sherlock could hear the affection in John's voice. He stood from his crouched position by the table and stepped into the sitting room right as the bickering couple reached the landing.

"Hello," John said, taking off his coat and hanging it up.

Mary just nodded at him before heading into the kitchen with the containers of food. John had offered to carry them, but she'd just shrugged him off.

John smiled apologetically before looking around the flat that he hardly recognized as the one he used to share with the detective.

While the sandy-haired doctor looked around the room, Sherlock took the opportunity to observe his friend. _Working more than usual. Not sleeping very well. Slept on the sofa last night. Lost at least half a stone. Hasn't gotten a haircut in almost three months._ Before Sherlock could comment on any of this, there was a shout from the kitchen.

"Are these real bones?!" Mary was slamming a drawer shut when Sherlock and John stepped into the kitchen.

"Cutlery is in the drawer on the end," the dark-haired man said, pointing a long pale finger at the drawer before taking a seat at the table.

John moved to help his wife. "You get on me about walking in without knocking, yet you're in here rummaging through his kitchen." It was said in a joking manner, but Mary shot her husband a deathly glare.

The table was set and food was served. Mary rolled her eyes as John put together a small plate for Sherlock without a second thought while she got her own food.

"Are you going to feed it to him as well?" she snapped.

John sighed. "I just want to make sure he eats. If I don't force a plate of food on him, he won't eat. He's skinny enough."

"**He's **sitting right here," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone as he glared down at his food.

"Sorry," John said, sighing again, "Stop glaring at your food and eat it."

Sherlock continued to glare at his food, but he began to eat as well. It was silent aside from the scrape of cutlery against plates.

"So, Sherlock, any new cases?" John asked.

Mary sighed heavily.

"Just a terribly boring kidnapping. Not even a five. It's obviously a pathetic act of revenge after a lost custody battle."

"Did you tell Lestrade that?"

Sherlock just stared down at his barely-touched food.

"Text Lestrade and tell him, so they can find the children."

The detective huffed and pulled out his mobile. His thin fingers flew over the screen of his phone. Once the text was sent, he returned his phone to his pocket, but made no move to continue eating.

"Were you really going to just ignore the fact that children had been kidnapped and you were the only one who had any idea where they were?" Mary asked incredulously.

"Lestrade and his team of idiots would have figured it out eventually." Sherlock shrugged. "It's not as though it was a murder. Had it been, I would have been on the case immediately."

"God, I can't believe I'm sitting here having dinner with a psychopath."

"High-functioning sociopath."

"Freak."

"Mary," John gasped, "that was uncalled for. Sherlock's not−"

"You can't seriously be taking up for him. You heard what he said."

"Yes, but you don't know Sherlock. You don't−"

"Don't I? He's a psychopathic freak, who thrives on death and violence and who has you wrapped around his finger."

"Mary, that's enough. I know you've been angry with me for some time now, but do not take it out on Sherlock." So caught up in their fight, neither blonde noticed the consulting detective slip away from the table, thing hands clasped over his ears.

"Sherlock's the problem, John. You're so hung up on him and the life you had with him−"

"You said you understood. You said you were okay with−"

"I was then, but I'm not now. I expected to eventually grow out of this…whatever this is. That's what happens when you get married. That's what's supposed to happen. I've put up with him for long enough. I could deal with him being a bit different, but I cannot deal with him acting like a bloody psychopath and you acting like that's okay."

"Stop calling him that. He's not−" Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed the absence of the younger man. "Oh God, where did he go?" the doctor said, running a hand through his hair.

"Who cares?" Mary muttered.

"I do. He's more sensitive than you realize, than anyone realizes."

"Wouldn't he have to actually have feelings for that to be possible?"

"I don't have time for this," he said, standing from the table.

"You're seriously going to just leave in the middle of a fight to go looking for some freak who's just looking for attention?" Mary exclaimed, standing as well, "Of course you are. Well, I'm going home. Once you decide that your wife is more important than some freak, I'll be waiting."

Once she was gone, John immediately turned his focus completely onto Sherlock. Hoping that the younger man hadn't left the flat, he decided to check his bedroom. Luck was on his side. The consulting detective was sitting in the middle of his rarely-used bed, his knees pulled up to his chest and his hands pressed over his ears. His bare toes dug into the duvet and his eyes were squeezed shut. He looked like nothing more than a very tall child.

"Sherlock," John said gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Grey-blue eyes popped open and his ands fell away from his ears. Though his face was blank, the shorter man could see the distress in those unusual eyes.

"You're still here." Stating the obvious. That wasn't like him.

"Yeah. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine, John. Mary is not the first person to hate me, and she won't be the last."

"She had no right saying those things about you. She was out of line. None of what she said was true."

"You don't have to do this. You don't…She's your wife. You should go home to her."

"I don't particularly want to see her right now."

"But…she's your wife. She's more important than I am."

"No she's not. Not right now."

"I don't understand." John knew how much it cost the detective to admit that. There was pure confusion in his eyes.

"You're my friend, Sherlock, my best friend. I love you, and I care about you, and no one, not even my wife, has the right to insult you like that."

"But people insult me all the time."

"Yes, and that's not okay, but it's even more not okay when it's my own wife."

"But that's how it's always been for me, John. Why should it be any different?"

"Because you don't deserve that, any of that."

"But I am different and not normal and a freak."

John's heart broke at the earnestness in his best friend's voice. "Sherlock, you may be different and not normal, but you are not, nor have you ever been, a freak. You are unique and brilliant and amazing and magnificent. You can't have forgotten that in the little time I've been gone."

"You've been gone seven months, three weeks, five days, and seventeen hours," the detective mumbled.

"Really? I didn't realize I t had been that long. No wonder I missed you so much." John could see the shock in Sherlock's eyes. "Of course I missed you," he said, moving to sit against the headboard and wrapping an arm around the detective's thin shoulders.

"Mary doesn't want you to see me anymore," the younger man said, allowing his head to fall onto the other man's shoulder.

"Maybe, but that doesn't matter."

"You can't choose me over your wife, John."

"I can't choose her over you either."

"So…what happens now?"

"I think Mary and I could use a night away from each other. Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?"

"Yes. Yes, of course," Sherlock said, lifting his head to give the other man a small smile.

John suddenly had the strangest urge to kiss Sherlock's forehead.

* * *

**First of all, I do not hate Mary Morstan no matter how it may seem in this story. I love her to pieces. I really do. She's obviously very OOC here, but someone has to be the bad guy, so John can Sherlock when he's being a sulky man-child.**

**Second of all, I'm not going to lie, I don't know exactly where I'm going with this story. I'll probably add more chapters just because I love writing this story so much. The idea came to me when I randomly thought of John and Mary arguing and Sherlock acting like the child stuck between his parents' fighting, which seemed really interesting to me. This is either going to be random instances where Sherlock acts like a man-child for various reasons and John allowing it or Sherlock and John developing a very close platonic relationship or both. **

**Anyhoo, I just wanted to post what I have to see if anyone is interested in it. **

**Also, this story is post-episode 2 or Season 3(The Sign of Three) but without Mary's pregnancy. His Last Vow didn't happen here.**


End file.
